Trying Again After Miscarriage

I found these words spilling out of my mouth on my first date with my husband, “Well, I’m not sure if I can even have kids at this point, since I’m in my forties.”

The thought bubble over my head was saying, “Why on earth are you telling this man these things?! Not exactly fun and flirty dinner conversation!”

Another part of my brain was saying, “Oh well, if you’re gonna scare him away, make it sooner rather than later, for everyone’s sake.”

My future husband replied, “I want children, but I’d rather end up with the right woman than worry about what our life should look like. I’d be happy adopting or figuring it out somehow.”

Clearly, I was the right woman, and he, the right man and we were married shortly after. Embarking on the journey of getting pregnant was easy then, when I had nothing to lose. We also got pregnant quickly.

Then, I had a miscarriage at 13 weeks.

I experienced what it was like to want something, and have it taken away. Intellectually, I thought I was prepared. I knew all the doom and gloom statistics about conception and miscarriage for women in their 40’s, but, until it actually happened to me, I had blissful ignorance on my side.

The hardest choice I ever made was to try again. It meant staying open to not knowing the ending of our story, facing the possibility of miscarriage again (indeed, we had one more), and living in a state of limbo.

There were times when the easier choice seemed to close the door on having a baby entirely and just move on with our lives. It’s a double-edged sword, facing the unknown with someone you love. You each have your own journey full of personal shades of trepidation and hope. Sometimes, one person can carry the other through the down times. Sometimes, both of you need a little support, but neither has the resources to give.

Ultimately, it was my husband’s character that gave me the strength to keep trying, though. His words on our first date continued to resonate in our lives. He showed me how to put relationships over goals. He helped me have faith that the journey would take us exactly where we needed to go. He taught me that hope isn’t getting what you think you want, but being open to what you receive.

Two and a half years after that first date, our daughter Claire was born.

I’m glad I listened to my heart on our first date. Between you and me, another thought bubble over my head was “I think I could marry this man.” I didn’t share that one with him either.

Editor’s Note: Today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. If you are, or know a Mommy or Daddy who has lost a child (born or unborn), go to our Facebook page and send them a virtual message of hope and support.

Rachel Demas spends her days with her delightful and frustrating two year old, Claire, in New York City. She blogs at The Tao of Poop about the shock and amazement of being a first-time, oldish mom. Claire is usually the star of her writing with guest appearances by her husband, George, and two cats, Lloyd and Sophia. You can follow her on Facebook, Twitter and Google+.